Page 33 of Blueprints, Battlelines and Ballrooms
‘And where does the governess sleep?’she asked.
‘Most have their own room.Nanny Abagail’s is on the top floor…’ His enthusiasm petered out.
‘The day would be over before I had reached the bottom of the stairs.And most families who live on a single level do not generally employ a governess.Mother is right, I should set my sights on marriage.But I cannot bring myself to find a man and accept that he will wander when I cannot warm his bed.My heart could not bear it again.’
‘Maybe you will find a man who adores you.Maybe he’ll be prepared to wait out the bad days.’He wiped a drop of condensation along the side of his glass, then flicked it away with his thumb.
‘Maybe I will,’ she said, trying to claw back some of her defences, but the ale had dissolved them all.‘But I won’t know until I’m in the midst of it, will I?And if I am wrong, it will be too late.There are no good choices, only gambles.And I cannot decide which horse to place my bet on, and if I take too long, the race will already be run, and I will end up with nothing.Some days I want to rage at Father for refusing to teach me properly, because of all the things I could do to make a little money, it’s drawing I’m best at.Houses, offices, water fountains…anything.I would relish it.But if he lost the respect of the public, or if other architects railed against him for working with a woman, we’d all be in the poorhouse.He’s paranoid about his career for a reason.I want to be angry, but I can’t.’
He did not look up from his glass, only let the silence of her predicament stretch, disjointed and awkward in the rough noise of the tavern.Undoubtedly, he would have moved on by now.He probably brought a new woman to the favourite bed in his favourite room every other night.
And really, it was for the best he’d extinguished his flame.
She dragged a deep breath through her tight chest.It was not anger, or even jealousy that made her ache, but a different feeling.One far more fragile, yet beautifully, pathetically, all her own.
Oh yes.It was easy to admit now hope was gone.She was very, very much in love with Johannes.
Chapter Sixteen
Johanneswipedahandthrough a sunbeam that had landed on Mr Holt’s desk.‘I think there’s enough sun to fix them.’
Florence adjusted the tilt on the table so it lay flat.‘How many drawings do we need to copy?There are a few clouds.I don’t think the weather will hold.’
‘We’ll start with the plans.We can do elevations if it stays light.’He ran a thumb along the crisp edges of the vellum copies of their drawings.‘I can’t believe you managed all of them.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.I sat up far too late, tracing them.But when I finally made it to bed, I slept like a kitten.’
Florence looked up, peering out of the window and at the rooftops of the adjacent building.Weak yellow light flexed and glowed through the room.It fell in an uneven rectangular patch around her and across the hatching of her gingham dress.He knew this dress.It was almost a uniform for the days she did not receive callers or head out with her mother.Easy to remember because she wore it so often.
But more than that, it belonged to another memory.A more lascivious memory, one that he recalled far too often.This was the dress she had worn to the hotel when she’d come to talk to him.As they’d stumbled upstairs in the dark, he’d scrabbled with those same buttons until he’d prised them loose.Then she’d pushed that skirt down, he’d pulled that ribbon, and she’d climbed over him…
‘Johannes?Will you help me with the glass?’
He startled.‘I… pardon?I mean, yes.Do you have the first page?’
Florence picked up a sheet of white vellum around two feet long.It fluttered a little as she crossed the room to his desk.‘I’d forgotten all those foundation hallways we put in at the start.I’ve been so worried about managers’ offices and doorways.It wasn’t until I started tracing that I even remembered them.It’s so functional, yet full of light.It really is a beautiful building for busy people.’
Johannes adjusted the angle of his desk so that it pulled away from the sunlight.He placed the first glass plate over the woodgrain.Through its opalescence, the swirls of wood and splotches of stray ink and paint seemed fixed and deliberate, instead of the knocks and accidents they actually were.He opened the folder and gingerly took hold of the first sheet of heavy paper that he’d painted with the cyanotype solution the day before.Florence lifted the vellum and held it on its long side.
‘Are you ready?’he asked.
She nodded.‘Always.’
The paper rubbed rough against the layer beneath as he pulled it from the case.He slid the straw yellow page over the glass.It sat uneven, with little bumps and distortions where the solution had dried in patches.With a hasty snap, he locked the rest of the papers back into the darkness of the folder while Florence stepped forwards to place the vellum over the sheet.
Fresh soap and orange oil, lemons and cloves, and underneath it, a whisper of exertion, of ink and industry.She smeltsogood.As she bent over the table to make small adjustments to the vellum, her arms brushed against his.So focused, everything about her was so focused.She tilted and turned her head as she swept her gaze across the entire sheet, her small smile of recognition flooding his vision as she retraced their plan.
He’d slipped that top collar button.
Right before he’d run his tongue over her neck.
And he’d pressed his lips right there, against her jaw, and she’d tasted like eternity.
She touched his arm.‘Johannes?’
Johannes blinked rapidly to bring himself back into the room.
‘One day I will figure out where you go in your mind,’ she said with a laugh.‘What are you thinking about when you disappear like that?’
